Stable
Watching you from upside down
- Joined
- Oct 7, 2016
- Messages
- 422
Hello all. I'm interested in any and all comments, but mostly I'm wondering - is this interesting enough to be a story as is?
***
Six antennae wiggle at me as I stare into the hole. They are tiny and perfect, emerging from the dark while the owners cower in the safe space I provide. I won’t let anyone hurt you, little wigglers, you’re safe with me.
It doesn’t hurt, the hole. It’s just a little gap in my shin, the skin around it slightly pink and shiny like scar tissue. It goes quite deep, I think, but I don’t want to shine a light down there and panic my guests. They panic enough when I stand up, antennae waving wildly at the motion.
I wear loose cotton trousers to work. They aren’t really uniform, but I’m a favourite with Helen so I get away with it. I don’t do good work today. I’m too concerned about my guests, suddenly in a new environment out of my flat. I’m also feeling paranoid about my walk. Does it look funny? It feels like my left leg is lighter than my right, as though it’s been hollowed out. It’s OK if it has, I like being a good home, but I have such a strong protective feeling and I know my colleagues wouldn’t understand. Some of them are mothers, perhaps they would understand more than they care to admit.
I buy a lot of food on my way home. Trying to work was too much, I’ll call in sick for a while and stay inside, make certain my little charges are safe.
They are uninterested in any of the food I offer them. Sugary, fatty, protein. I lie on the lawn outside in the evening sunshine and doze off for a moment. When I wake there is a small bare patch beside my leg where all the grass is gone. I’m glad.
The next morning I stand up, I look down, expecting to see the panicked wiggle once more, but instead the hole is plugged completely by a darker round head with a threatening nozzle. They have started to develop different castes. This must be a big step, I feel a parental pride pooling under my ribs.
Both legs feel light today, bringing my gait back into balance. I only walk down the stairs though, and settle on the grass again. I eat sandwiches as I sit and watch the hole be tentatively unplugged, then one small form after another negotiate the hairs on my leg to bring back a snip of grass. They are so brave, these tiny creatures in such a big world.
I read about termites. I don’t know if my tenants are termites, but they could be. I learn a queen could live for fifty years. That their mounds have a hard skin and chambers for lungs. I have a soft skin, hard centre and I have my own lungs. I will be a better home.
The little guys and girls snipping grass by my leg are so coordinated. They bump, smell and pass each other constantly to form a living conveyor belt. Does any one individual know their plan? Does it even make sense to think of an individual termite? These are my teeth, chewing and pulling nutrients into me.
I’ve often regretted that my landlord lives upstairs from me. He heard the crash as the window fell out last night. I would have lived without glass for a while and been happy, but he sees where the wood was eaten away.
“Termites,” he tells me. “I’ll get pest control in as soon as I can.” I tire of his apologies and usher him out. “You’re looking good at least,” he tells me on the way, like a consolation prize. “Whatever you’re doing keep it up.”
I’ll have to leave, even inside me they might not be safe from toxic treatments. I start to pack, but most of my clothes no longer fit. I’m no heavier, but my skin feels tight. My landlord is right though, I do look good. My skin is clear, my eyes shine. I have a purpose. I don’t need to pack to fulfil that purpose, so I leave all my belongings and start walking.
That first night I realise I no longer feel the cold. Thousands of tiny generators keep me warm from the inside out. I walk until my legs warn me they are about to give up, then find a park with some trees to shelter beneath. I wake up on a bare patch of earth feeling satiated, drink greedily at a water fountain and keep going.
The second night I find a nicer park. I’m still in the city, but moving through a richer area near the river. I’m awakened by an unsympathetic boot.
“You can’t sleep here,” says a policeman. “Looks like you were lying on an ant nest anyway.” He and his partner haul me to my feet. I panic for a moment, I don’t want to leave so many of my tiny wards behind, alone in this park. At my panic I feel movement from each nostril and a liquid jet squirts into each of the two faces near mine. An acrid whiff makes my eyes sting and water, but it’s nothing compared to the reaction of the two police. They release me and drop, curling up with hands in their eyes. The smell calls to the workers on the ground, and they swarm back to me. We are gone before the policemen recover.
We escape the city, but find farms instead. There is so little wild land now where we could be safe. The threat of people and pesticides surrounds me. I will keep going. I will keep them safe. I feel a message of satisfaction from within, pride at my determination.
Later, how much later I no longer know nor care, I roll along the leaf-carpeted ground. My thousands of mouths reach out to the world around us. I keep them, and they keep me. Company, safety, home. They are all within and without me. I see no people, but we are not lonely.
***
Six antennae wiggle at me as I stare into the hole. They are tiny and perfect, emerging from the dark while the owners cower in the safe space I provide. I won’t let anyone hurt you, little wigglers, you’re safe with me.
It doesn’t hurt, the hole. It’s just a little gap in my shin, the skin around it slightly pink and shiny like scar tissue. It goes quite deep, I think, but I don’t want to shine a light down there and panic my guests. They panic enough when I stand up, antennae waving wildly at the motion.
I wear loose cotton trousers to work. They aren’t really uniform, but I’m a favourite with Helen so I get away with it. I don’t do good work today. I’m too concerned about my guests, suddenly in a new environment out of my flat. I’m also feeling paranoid about my walk. Does it look funny? It feels like my left leg is lighter than my right, as though it’s been hollowed out. It’s OK if it has, I like being a good home, but I have such a strong protective feeling and I know my colleagues wouldn’t understand. Some of them are mothers, perhaps they would understand more than they care to admit.
I buy a lot of food on my way home. Trying to work was too much, I’ll call in sick for a while and stay inside, make certain my little charges are safe.
They are uninterested in any of the food I offer them. Sugary, fatty, protein. I lie on the lawn outside in the evening sunshine and doze off for a moment. When I wake there is a small bare patch beside my leg where all the grass is gone. I’m glad.
The next morning I stand up, I look down, expecting to see the panicked wiggle once more, but instead the hole is plugged completely by a darker round head with a threatening nozzle. They have started to develop different castes. This must be a big step, I feel a parental pride pooling under my ribs.
Both legs feel light today, bringing my gait back into balance. I only walk down the stairs though, and settle on the grass again. I eat sandwiches as I sit and watch the hole be tentatively unplugged, then one small form after another negotiate the hairs on my leg to bring back a snip of grass. They are so brave, these tiny creatures in such a big world.
I read about termites. I don’t know if my tenants are termites, but they could be. I learn a queen could live for fifty years. That their mounds have a hard skin and chambers for lungs. I have a soft skin, hard centre and I have my own lungs. I will be a better home.
The little guys and girls snipping grass by my leg are so coordinated. They bump, smell and pass each other constantly to form a living conveyor belt. Does any one individual know their plan? Does it even make sense to think of an individual termite? These are my teeth, chewing and pulling nutrients into me.
I’ve often regretted that my landlord lives upstairs from me. He heard the crash as the window fell out last night. I would have lived without glass for a while and been happy, but he sees where the wood was eaten away.
“Termites,” he tells me. “I’ll get pest control in as soon as I can.” I tire of his apologies and usher him out. “You’re looking good at least,” he tells me on the way, like a consolation prize. “Whatever you’re doing keep it up.”
I’ll have to leave, even inside me they might not be safe from toxic treatments. I start to pack, but most of my clothes no longer fit. I’m no heavier, but my skin feels tight. My landlord is right though, I do look good. My skin is clear, my eyes shine. I have a purpose. I don’t need to pack to fulfil that purpose, so I leave all my belongings and start walking.
That first night I realise I no longer feel the cold. Thousands of tiny generators keep me warm from the inside out. I walk until my legs warn me they are about to give up, then find a park with some trees to shelter beneath. I wake up on a bare patch of earth feeling satiated, drink greedily at a water fountain and keep going.
The second night I find a nicer park. I’m still in the city, but moving through a richer area near the river. I’m awakened by an unsympathetic boot.
“You can’t sleep here,” says a policeman. “Looks like you were lying on an ant nest anyway.” He and his partner haul me to my feet. I panic for a moment, I don’t want to leave so many of my tiny wards behind, alone in this park. At my panic I feel movement from each nostril and a liquid jet squirts into each of the two faces near mine. An acrid whiff makes my eyes sting and water, but it’s nothing compared to the reaction of the two police. They release me and drop, curling up with hands in their eyes. The smell calls to the workers on the ground, and they swarm back to me. We are gone before the policemen recover.
We escape the city, but find farms instead. There is so little wild land now where we could be safe. The threat of people and pesticides surrounds me. I will keep going. I will keep them safe. I feel a message of satisfaction from within, pride at my determination.
Later, how much later I no longer know nor care, I roll along the leaf-carpeted ground. My thousands of mouths reach out to the world around us. I keep them, and they keep me. Company, safety, home. They are all within and without me. I see no people, but we are not lonely.
